


Executive Enthusiasm

by lodessa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: President Daenerys Targaryen has an emotional reunion with her former campaign advisor, Jorah.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	Executive Enthusiasm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenelopeTweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeTweed/gifts).



> **Written to the prompt:** 23 (In the White House) or 26 (During a political campaign) modern Dany/Jorah w Dany as president or running for president.

“Madame President, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this man insists that he knows you,” one of the new aides apologizes and she looks up from the trade agreements she had been going over and suddenly it is as if time stops.

Standing there, looking sharp in a well tailored suit, healthy and strong, is Jorah. He inclines his head almost bashfully as her eyes meet his, and without thinking she’s halfway across the room towards him. 

“He does,” she manages, before finding herself the rest of the way to him, reaching out to be enfolded in his warm embrace. “Mr. Mormont has been with me since the beginning.”

For a moment she just soaks in the sensation of having him here, of feeling his warmth, of breathing him in. Despite her brave words, she’d feared that she’d never see him again when they parted last. 

_“I need you by my side when I reach the White House,” she told him. “You do not have my permission to die.”_

_His face was a mixture of agony and ecstasy at that, a mirror to the feelings within her own breast. She reached out her hands to caress his beloved weathered face, memorizing it with touch as she long since had by sight._

_Oh she had been so angry with him, so hurt, but in that moment she wished she had never sent him away. How much time had they lost? How much potential lay unfulfilled?_

_A quick glance to make sure the blinds to the rest of the campaign office were truly closed, was all she managed before she found herself pressing her body to his, kissing him as she for so long had told herself she had no desire to do but now felt like the most pressing task in the world._

_He kissed her back, lifting her up onto the desk, sending papers scattering._

_“Don’t send me away. I’d rather live my final months here near you than waste them searching for a cure that probably doesn’t exist,” he begged into her skin, kissing her neck between words._

_“I do not accept that,” she refused, grabbing his shoulders and turning her tone to authoritative, despite the overwhelming urge to give in to the temptation and lose herself in him. “You **will** find a cure and you will come back to me.” _

Sending him away, both of them unfulfilled and yearning, had been hard. There were many nights she’d doubted even if it was the right call, but now she finds that faith rewarded. 

“You look well,” she tells him, feeling so elated she might float away. “Did you find what I sent you away to find?”

“I did,” he assures her, sparing a quick glance to Jon Snow still standing beside the desk she’d abandoned looking confused, before returning his gaze to her face, searching for something.

“Senator Snow, if you’ll excuse me. I must reschedule our meeting. There are some pressing issues I must discuss with my chief of staff.”

Snow still looks perplexed but he nods and lets the aide guide him out. Daenerys barely manages to wait until the door to the Oval Office closes before grabbing Jorah by the tie and pulling him back across the door towards the desk.

She reaches out to press the intercom as her backside collides with the wood.

“Mormont and I are not to be distrubed for anything short of a nuclear strike,” she instructs, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” is all the reply she needs before closing the communication, and using her grip on his tie to pull his face down towards hers. 

She uses her other hand to rotate them around so Jorah is the one pressed up against the desk, devouring his mouth with her own as, as she fumbles with the top button of his shirt. 

“Jorah…” she purrs, moving her mouth down his throat towards his chest as she works on the next button. “I’ve missed you so.”

“I wasn’t sure…” he groans, as she finds a pulse point. 

“Was I not clear, last time I saw you?” she reprimands him, barely resisting the urge to just tear his shirt open as her trembling hands struggle with it.

“It could have been a dream,” he replies, “It felt like a dream.”

She finally hits the top of his pants, moving to undo his belt buckle as she continues a path down his chest, noting all the scars, signs of surgeries both fresh and old.

“Did I only dream that you told me you love me? That you’d always love me.”

“No,” he swallows, as she unfastens his pants, reaching into them eagerly.

“Good,” she replies, straightening back up fully as she strokes him with anticipation and claiming his lips once more. 

She drags his pants and underwear down enough to reveal him, taking a break from touching him to wiggle own of her own, before pushing back onto the surface of the desk, running both hands down his exposed chest before moving one back to grab his tie and the other to his cock as she climbs her way onto the desk as well, skirt bunching up around her waist. straddling him so that rubs against her clit and watches his eyes widen at the contact and at the realization of just how wet she is.

“You’re mine,” she tells him, as she shifts to press him to her entrance. “Mine.”

They both shudder as she slides down the length of him, taking him within her in one long stroke. He grabs hold of her with both hands, one on each side of her backside and she yanks him by the tie to meet her lips with his own. 

“Til my dying breath,” he gasps, thrusting up to meet her movements, as she claims him in the most primordial of ways. 

She can’t tell him that she thought he might have made a mistake sending him away for the second time, despite the difference of reasons. No. This isn’t a moment for hesitation, for doubts.

For the first time in months, she stops thinking about contingencies and what ifs and just loses herself in the moment: in the scrape of his stubble against her skin and the warmth of his hands, and the satisfaction of him buried inside of her to the hilt. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his ear. 

It’s his turn to turn her face to meet his so he can stare into her eyes.

“Say it again,” he urges her.

“I love you,” she repeats, maintaining eye contact as she rolls her hips for emphasis. “ I love you, I need you, I want you.”

She’s wished she told him a thousand times since the last time they met, wished she could go back in time and make her meaning clearer, worrying that her message got lost in the jumble of emotions that day.

“I prayed,” he tells her. “I’m not a religious man but I prayed that was what you meant the last time I saw you. I told myself that whatever way you meant that you needed me was enough, but this miracle… the hope is what kept me going when the way seemed hopeless.”

She lets go of the tie and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his and her body more completely so as well. Their movements aren’t particularly fast, but the urgency is palpable nonetheless. 

“Jorah…” she breathes. “My Bear, my-”

She loses track of her declaration as the pleasure mounting within them overcomes her, crying out in overwhelmed ecstasy in place of further words.


End file.
